The Tiger
by breakingworlds
Summary: Her name is Cat, but she's more like a tiger. She's all sharp claws and fangs and wicked eyes, waiting, waiting, to pounce. Cat/Tori


Her name is Cat, but she's more like a tiger. She's all sharp claws and fangs and wicked eyes, waiting, waiting, to pounce. (And she will, if you're not careful.) She's silent, sure. She takes her time. You don't even notice, not until it's too late. She'll dot your skin with pools of blood. (But not for long, be careful or she'll drink it up.) Explaining is so hard, for a tiger. (Tigers only growl.) So she bites you in places no one sees, on your shoulders, your stomach, the inside of your thigh. You still have that scar, don't you; you run your fingers over it when you're lonely. You remember your blood mixing with her hair, but really the color doesn't change because isn't it died with blood already? She looks up at you from between your legs, and her eyes might be brown but they're coated with darkness.

It happens in closets and spare bedrooms, empty hallways and forgotten classrooms Always in the dark, always beginning with a simple tap or smile, bright eyes that turn dark when you're alone. A word or two, a giggle, fingers that skirt over the hem of your shirt before pulling you out of the light, into a world where fantasy becomes reality and logic is left outside the door.

You pull your shirt up, just above your bellybutton and she runs her eyes over you, drinking you in. She presses her hands against your stomach, oh, it's so flat and white (just like her teeth were, before you stained them with your blood). She looks you over like you're a crisp new piece of paper and she can't wait to draw all over you. She only uses red ink, of course.

She presses her fingernails into your shoulder blades, kissing a bloody path from your neck to your heart. You think she's already taken a bite of it but she hasn't, not yet, it only feels like she has because when you're not around her it feels like she's taken a part of you with her. And when you leave her you leave part of you behind. It's the way she says your name, it barley leaves her lips, a whisper on the wind but you always hear it. To-ri, she singsongs, don't run away from me. We're having so - much - fun. Who ever told you not to play with knives? How silly. We always play with knives and we _never_ get hurt.

Maybe that's just because we like a little pain with our pleasure, don't we?

She tastes like copper when she kisses you because she never goes for your mouth first, she pulls you towards her by your lips, yes, she hooks her teeth into those too, and suddenly all you can taste is pennies and salt and oh god, this will be hard to explain. She's got these canines, so sharp, she's almost like a dog, but she's not a dog, she's a cat. (I'm sorry, a tiger.) And when she pulls back her pinkpink lips are dotted red, maybe it's just lipstick (but maybe it's not). Maybe she's a vampire, she's got the teeth for it, after all, but weren't all vampires human, once? She's certainly never been human; it's the way she looks at you (like you're her next meal). And you can't escape, never, not when she's got you pinned because really, why would you want to escape? You can never remember, it's only when you're walking home with fresh new bruises that you know why and by then it's far too late.

Sometimes she goes for your neck, never too close but never far enough. She grazes her teeth along it, pausing only at your artery, pressing her mouth against you, teeth bared. She doesn't bite down, spill your blood, but you know she could. You know she could kill you because she already is, slowly. You wonder why she doesn't and sometimes you wish she would. Sink her fangs into your skin, that is. Puncture you. Deflate you. Drink you up.

Even when her teeth are gone, hidden behind a rosy mouth (who would ever suspect?), you're not safe. You're never safe. Because her claws are sharp little points, ready to stab. She hides them like a flower, under bright colors. You learned a long time ago that the most beautiful are always poisonous, so beware! But you didn't remember, did you? You forgot. Shame on you, if you had only remembered maybe the songs she sings to you wouldn't haunt your dreams (they're more like nightmares).

Sure, in the daylight, she smiles and sings and grabs your hand in hers, skipping along like she's an angel brought down to earth. You sit down next to her in the movie theater, right next to Andre (he doesn't know, why doesn't he _know_), and she removes the armrest so she can snuggle up to you, still clutching your hand in hers, oh, maybe she really is as sweet as she looks, maybe you've got it all wrong, maybe the reason her eyes look so _red_ is because of the light (why can't we stay in the light). It's only the daggers biting into your palms beneath the closure of your fingers that remind you who she really is. It's only when you escape and stare down at your hand that you see pinpricks of blood and remember that in the darkness, she's not an angel at all. She's a creature from hell, come to rip your heart out of your chest and eat it. (You'd willingly give it to her, you know that, you're only worried that she doesn't want it.) When you return she tilts her head up, whispering so softly you can hardly hear but it makes your hair rise and your chest freeze, because she's singing your name, Tori, To-ri, why don't you la-la-la-love me? I know all of your secrets, do you know mine? Will you re-mem-ber them when you're gone?

You can't admit that you get scar-scar-nervous when you're around her.

The first time you were surprised, who is this little monster that used to be Cat? It's still her, silly, this is the real her, you just took off a beautiful mask and found a hideous face beneath, but guess what? You loved it, didn't you Tori, you pretended you despised it but you needed it because you're a littl everybody knows it _especially_ her, that's why she's doing this. Because you can't stand to be without her, not for one little tiny moment, you can't be away from her or you'll break your own skin and pretend it's her teeth.

You only did it once, jeez, then you threw away the blade, it wasn't the same, not at all, you didn't feel the same warmth. You always leave Cat warm, and sticky too, and red, let's not forget red. You leave her smelling like blood and even though you scrub and scrub and scrub you can't wash away CAT, now can you? Why don't you just stop trying? You're never going to win.

You always loose, in the end.

Maybe it's because you forget that you need anything when you're around her, who needs weapons when you're with a little Kitty Cat, who needs "_baby_" when you're with one already? Who needs blush when she calls all your blood to the surface of your body with one look? It's all there, ready for her to break you and lap you up with her little Kitty Cat tongue, so long and pink when she licks you clean.

She always does, when it's over. She licks you clean. She never says sorry, but sometimes you think she's trying to say it with her tongue. Then again, her eyes don't say sorry, they say, I'd do it again in a heartbeat (your last). She almost convinces you that she's here to save you, she's only come to rid your blood of evils, to purify you, but when all you can do is scramble into the shadows, fall to the ground and skitter away like a spider because ohohoh _if she catches you _(well you can't let her, that's all, you can't let her get you because if she catches you then it's all over you know that don't you it'sovergonefinished, yes, yes, you're gonegonegone) you know what will happen and you _can't let it,_ that's when you remember. That's when you remember who she really is, that the only way to purify yourself would be to leave her, forget every inch of her skin that's ever touched yours. You know you can't. You know you can't because it's not something you can forget, the feeling of her skin under your fingers, her lips and her _teeth_.

You will never ever forget her teeth.

More accurately, you'll never forget what her teeth made you _feel_. They make you feel so much that when you're not around her you don't remember what it's like to feel; you can't remember how to do it. Sometimes you feel numb. You know she's the one making you this way, she's the one taking away your senses, but you choose to ignore it because otherwise you wouldn't get to feelfeelfeel like stars are lighting up your insides when she skims her teeth over your ankle, your wrist, your belly button.

(It kills you that she makes you feel this alive.)

She'll ultimately kill you, and you know that. You're ready for it. In fact, you're kind of excited.

So why do you love her? You don't know. You can't figure it out.

Maybe it's her teeth.


End file.
